


Marked

by hostofheaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Season/Series 10, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostofheaven/pseuds/hostofheaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning of Season 10, Sam must discover what is happening with his brother…and what lengths he must go to in order to stop it. Teaming up with the King of Hell, the unwilling Castiel, a renegade hunter, and a young girl who just might be the most powerful prophet of all time, Sam begins the arduous and painful battle for Dean’s corrupted soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakened

“You have to believe me.”

Peace. That was what Dean was feeling. Utter peace. He couldn’t remember a time this peaceful since…well, ever.

“I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really.” 

Something was breaking through the laughter around him, like white noise static between radio stations. A voice - deep, cool, heavily accented. Crowley? Why couldn’t he just leave Dean alone? This wasn’t where he belonged. Dean was in Bobby’s familiar kitchen, reaching for another slice of warm pecan pie. No demons should be interfering.

“I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental.”

Although, the group of people smiling at Dean and offering him more dessert didn’t include Sam. Or Cas. Shouldn’t they be in his paradise? That was strange…

“As rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go.”

The faces around the long table were blurring at the edges. Bobby’s patterned wallpaper seemed to be slipping out of clarity, like the focus on an old camera gone wrong. The comfortable golden lighting was starting to bleed into inky black smoke. 

“Maybe miracles do come true.”

Dean reached out a hand, grasping for fragments, but Bobby, Jo, Ellen, his mom were all fading to echoes. The world was twisting to a sickly, pallid gray.

“Listen to me, Dean Winchester. What you're feeling right now - it's not death.”

Yeah, pretty friggin’ far from it. Death was nice, death was peaceful. This was like swimming in a lake of smog. Tendrils of dark fog coiled around Dean, encasing him, choking him.

“It's life - a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean.” 

Open his eyes? He was dead. He had seen Sam’s stricken expression, smiling though his tears. He had heard his brother’s raw scream that could only mean there was no hope. He had felt the frigid metal of Metatron’s angel blade pierce his skin. He had choked out an apology as the ripping sensation in his stomach ate away his consciousness.

“See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon.”

Black. Everything was black for a moment stretching to eternity. And then, he felt it. Cradled in his right hand. Familiar, intoxicating, keening for revenge and blood. The First Blade.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and in an instant he bolted upright, dropping the Blade and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. “Crowley?”

“Dean.” Crowley sat in the corner of the small, cramped room at a plain desk, arms slung casually across the shoulders of his chair. “Welcome back.” Something like relief flickered across the demon’s face before it reverted back to careful indifference. Dean glanced around and realized he was in the Bunker, in his own room. He felt perfectly fine. No pain in his stomach, where there had been stabbing agony a few hours ago. Everything around him looked exactly the same, except for the First Blade clenched in his hand and his bloodstained shirt.

“Welcome back? What the hell is going on? Where am I?” Dean looked down at his plaid shirt experimentally, then prodded his stomach. Nothing. “And why are you even in my personal heaven? I hate your guts.”

Crowley gave him a dry smirk. “Always nice to meet a fan. Look, you’re not in Heaven, Dean.”

“Well this sure as hell isn’t…Hell. Or Purgatory. We’re in the Bunker.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “Yes, brilliant observation. If you could probe your memory to the ancient time of a few seconds ago, you’ll recall I welcomed you back. As in back to Earth.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “That’s impossible. I’m dead. What the hell kind of game are you playing at, Crowley?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. “I believe a look in the mirror would be self explanatory. I think you’ll–” He cocked his head, listening. “I’m being summoned. By Moose, I presume. Got to run. Tootles.” And the demon blinked out of sight.

“Son of a bitch! I need answers!” Dean angrily swung his legs over the side of his bed, then stood up, swaying a little on the spot. Crowley had said look in the mirror, and Dean didn’t have anything better to go on. He tightened his grip on the First Blade and made his way across the hall to the bathroom. Leaning against the cool sink, Dean wearily ran a hand through his hair. He felt like he had been steamrolled by a monster truck. Shaking his head to clear it, he glanced at himself in the small mirror - and immediately stumbled backwards in shock.

“Holy shit.” Dean brushed a hand across his face, hoping the image would dissipate, but there was no mistaking it. His eyes were pure, obsidian black, reflecting his own horrified and distorted image back at him like a warped funhouse mirror. And that wasn’t all. The First Blade was pulsing in his hand, sending red hot shivers up his arm. It sang a song of revenge and bloodlust, of victory, of–

No. Dean shook his head again, trying to snap out of the lusty haze. But it was too much, he could feel the Blade’s power coursing through his veins, his nerve endings, snaking its way toward his brain. His chest was constricting, going numb, like his heart was being wrapped in layers of ice. Dean barely noticed the First Blade clattering to the floor as he slumped against the sink, porcelain cracking under his fingers as he squeezed, reaching out for anything, trying to get a grip on himself…

He glanced at the mirror. Eyes still black. But this time, Dean’s face was contorting into a slowly spreading sadistic smile, a smile he had no control over.

* * *

“Damn it, Crowley!” Sam slammed his fist on the creaky wooden table in frustration, sending a tremor through the unsteady legs. “Come on.” He paced in a tight circle, hands clenched in his shoulder-length hair, muttering to himself. “Come on, he has to come, that’s how it works, come on…”

“Finally cracked then, have we, Moose?”

“Crowley!” Sam spun to face the demon, who was busying himself brushing invisible lint off the lapel of his black suit coat. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, I gathered.” Crowley looked at the painted Devil’s Trap ringed around his feet and sighed. “Really, I thought we would have developed a better relationship than this by now.”

“Shut up,” Sam growled. “Look, please, I need something from you, alright? I’m here to–“

“Make a deal, yes, I know.” Crowley folded his arms. “The answer is no.”

Sam clenched his fists. “What?” 

“You heard me. No.”

“No, you don’t understand, its Dean, he’s…” Sam dropped his head, eyes burning with tears. “Dead,” he choked out finally, then looked back up to see Crowley smirking at him, of all things.

“Death is relative,” the demon chuckled.

Sam lunged across the room and grabbed Crowley by the collar, eliciting a gasp of surprise. “Explain yourself,” Sam hissed. “Now. My brother’s been stabbed, Crowley, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him suffer. I need him.”

Crowley shoved the hunter off himself and straightened his jacket. “Your complete and utter codependency is quite touching, Samantha, but you see, a deal won’t be necessary. Dean’s already back.”

“Dean’s already…what?” Sam rubbed a hand wearily across his face. “I don’t have time for this.”

“If you would so kindly let me out of this infernal contraption you call a Devil’s Trap, I could show you.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No way, Crowley. How gullible do you think I–” He was interrupted from a clatter from over his head, what sounded like lamps and chairs being knocked over. “What the hell?” 

Crowley spread his arms in a gesture of presentation. “Told you. Now let me go, you need my help.”

“Alright, fine.” Sam grumpily scraped off a chip of the Devil’s Trap with his boot and watched as the demon stepped through. “But don’t think I won’t gank you if you try anything.”

The two men jogged out of the Bunker dungeon up the creaky stairs into the familiar central room, where they found a disaster. Chairs were splintered and scattered across the floor, tables had been overturned, papers drifted sadly around the room. And standing at the Bunker door, silhouetted in pale dawn light, was Dean’s unmistakable profile.


	2. Decipher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late. I'm going to try and post a chapter about every week and a half, but it might end up being two weeks instead.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, sprinting up the stairs. “You’re alive…how are you alive?” Blinking back tears, he reached for Dean’s shoulder to pull him closer.

At the base of the steps, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Sam, I wouldn’t–”

Dean spun around, and in a single fluid movement thrust out his arm, telekinetically throwing Sam off his feet. The hunter staggered backward, dazed, and toppled down the flight of heavy metal stairs. Rubbing his head, Sam struggled to his feet and looked at the figure above him in disbelief.

“De…Dean?” he asked haltingly, only to gasp as he caught sight of his brother’s black eyes. “No!” Sam spun towards Crowley, but the demon rematerialized at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, not a flicker of apology in his tone. “I’ve got work to do.” He placed a hand of Dean’s shoulder and both of them disappeared.

Sam sank down numbly on the floor, struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Dean was alive, and a demon, and with Crowley. Sam couldn’t think, no, couldn’t believe that Dean would become the thing he hated most. To spend a whole life hunting the supernatural, only to become possessed by one of them - Sam supposed it was some kind of sick, cosmic irony, although who could have possibly dreamed up such a twisted punishment he had no idea. Maybe he could fix this. Maybe, if he searched long and hard enough he could find a way to cure his brother. Research always worked.

Gripped by feverish determination, Sam headed for the Bunker library, blindly pulling books off the shelves in the desperate hope they would contain something, anything he could use. Trying to juggle a heavy volume and his laptop at the same time, the hunter began to work.

Hours passed. Sam didn’t even think to eat or rest. He needed information on how to track demons, and he doubted the King of Hell would be careless enough to leave livestock dead or errant storm clouds.

Books piled higher around him as he worked, but, as the sun gradually reached the apex of the sky and then dipped towards the horizon, Sam began to lose hope.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Sam furiously wiped hot tears off his cheeks, then balled his hands into fists. Dean couldn’t be gone again. He just couldn’t. First death, now this. Sam idly wondered who the demon possessing Dean could be…all their old enemies were dead. Bobby might’ve known, Ellen, Crowley, even his dad. But they were all gone now. Sam didn’t know who to turn to anymore. Dean had always been the one person there for him, the one who he could count on, the one who he trusted. His brother. The only person who even came close was…

Sam straightened up in determination. “Cas,” he whispered. “Cas can help.” Jumping to his feet, Sam jogged around the Bunker, collecting what he would need for a hunt. Castiel was still locked in Heaven under Metatron’s control, but there had to be some way to break in. Desperation drove Sam as he piled various weapons into an fraying duffel, throwing his father’s old journal in for good measure. He could have sworn he and Dean had memorized every page of that tattered book, but maybe there was something new on angels, demons, anything. Not bothering to change his dirty striped shirt, Sam ran up the stairs and out of the Bunker. He just had to get to Heaven, break Cas and Gadreel out somehow, and then try to track Crowley and Dean as best he could.

Tossing his duffel bag into the back of the Impala, Sam slammed the trunk decisively and turned to walk towards the driver’s side–only to have Castiel materialize in front of him.  
“Holy sh–” Sam stumbled backwards a few steps. “Don’t do that!”

“My apologies,” the angel replied in his usual formal tone. “I was anxious to get here as soon as possible.”

Sam looked at his friend in amazement, then gave him a hug. “Metatron told us you were imprisoned. How did you get out?”

Cas’ eyes turned down at the corners. “Gadreel. He sacrificed himself, and I managed to subdue Metatron. His followers have turned against him, but they want me to be their leader. I managed to excuse myself to come see you.” Cas sighed. “ Gadreel, before he…he has a favor. He asked us to remember him…with honor.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded weakly. “Yeah. Sure.” He raked a hand through his tangled hair. “Um, listen, Cas…there’s something you should probably know…”

“Dean,” the angel said softly, gaze dropping to the pavement. His shoulders slumped, and when he finally looked back at Sam, Cas’ electric blue eyes were rimmed red. “I know. Metatron told me. He’s dead.”

“Oh.” Sam leaned back against the trunk of the Impala. “See, that’s where it gets a little complicated.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Complicated?”

Sam exhaled heavily. “Oh shit, you’re not going to believe this.” The hunter absentmindedly scratched his collarbone, pushing open the neck of his shirt. “So get this. Dean is possessed.”

“Possessed?”

“By a demon. I have no idea who, but I don’t think it’s anyone we’ve dealt with before. He’s off somewhere with Crowley, but I need to find them. I have to make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah, Cas, a deal. Why do you just keep repeating things?” Sam looked up and realized Castiel was frozen to the spot, staring at Sam. “Cas?”

“He can’t be possessed, Sam,” Cas said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s impossible.”

“I saw him,” Sam insisted. “Black eyes and everything.”

Cas pointed mutely to Sam’s mussed shirt, which had shifted to reveal his anti-possession tattoo. The same one he shared with Dean.

Sam looked slowly down at the swirling black design. “But…” he stuttered. “Then how is…”

“I don’t know,” Cas replied softly. 

“Dammit.” Sam slammed his palm on the Impala’s hood. “Cas, what the hell are we going to do? There’s no lore on this, anywhere. I looked.”

“Well, I might have something you can use.” Cas dug around in his trenchcoat and pulled out a slab of stone. “I did manage do some good up in Heaven. Metatron had another tablet.”

“What?” Sam examined the tablet in awe. “What does this one do?”

Cas sighed. “Metatron was hoarding this one, Hannah and I have no idea where he found it. Perhaps he extracted the information from Naomi. We know that she had access to almost every bank of knowledge in Heaven. Anyway, we forced Metatron to decipher this for us. He was not happy about it, but we determined he was telling the truth.” Cas tapped the bold runes at the top of the stone. “It’s the Prophet Tablet.”

“There’s a Prophet Tablet?”

“Yes. Apparently, it gives the names of future prophets, among other things.”

Sam smiled bitterly. “Well, Crowley killed them all. I helped. So unless that worthless slab of rock has a resurrection recipe on it–”

“Sam.” Cas put a gentle hand on the hunter’s shoulder. “Just listen. The tablet says that in a case of great turmoil or war, a new prophet will appear to help the world through it’s time of great need. The civil war in Heaven looks like it may have been enough to activate them. Whoever this prophet is, they’re called The Great Oracle. If anyone can tell us where Dean is, they can.”

“Um, that’s great, Cas. How do we find them?” 

Cas smirked proudly. “I sent out angels to search. They pinpointed a small town in Colorado. We should go there.” He cocked his head for a moment, as if listening. His blue eyes squinted in confusion, then widened in shock. “Now.”

“Like, right now?”

“Now.” Cas pulled open the Impala’s passenger door hurriedly. “Angels reported of strange black storm clouds moving in.”

“Demons,” Sam realized, turning the key to the ignition as he slid into the driver’s seat. “If they get to her before we do…”

“We’ll have no chance of finding Dean,” Cas finished grimly.

Sam gave a terse nod and slammed the accelerator of the Impala, sending he and Castiel off into early morning fog and a sickening sense of dread.


	3. Trigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I haven't updated this in forever…I was really busy and struck with tremendous writer's block but that's not really an excuse…anyway I'll put Ch4 up tomorrow to make it up for you? Also oops this chapter is shorter than usual, writer's block is seriously the worst.

“Dean! You have to control it!” Crowley ducked as another lamp whistled inches above his head and smashed against the patterned wallpaper. “Dean!”

Dean whirled around and tilted his head, eyes still black as night. They hadn’t flickered back to green once. He paused for a moment, poised in offensive position, then split a bedside table with a vicious kick. The splintered wood clattered to the dingy motel floor.

Crowley shook his head tensely. “You’ve got to get a grip, Winchester. Simmer down. I’ll be back in five minutes, and I want order here. You hear me?”

Dean made no reply, only plunged the First Blade into a throw pillow. Feathers went flying everywhere.

“Order!” Crowley repeated desperately, then stalked into the small, dirty bathroom. Leaning his head against the sink with a sigh, the demon reflected this may not have been the smartest plan in his arsenal. All he had wanted was a place where he could help Dean through his preliminary demoniacal destruction stage, and he thought teleporting into a cheap motel room might do the trick. The Winchesters were always holing up in unsanitary places. He needed some sort of way to break through to Dean, to trigger him. Obviously Sam hadn’t worked, judging by the scene back at their underground pretense of headquarters. But perhaps that ridiculous angel…

“Dean?” Crowley cautiously stuck his head out of the bathroom. The other man turned suddenly from carving demonic symbols in the motel’s wallpaper and stood silently, staring with empty back pools at Crowley. He didn’t want to admit it, but Dean unnerved the King of Hell. The precision, the power, the hunger pulsed from the newly formed demon in intense waves.

Crowley cleared his throat, a little nervously. “Do you remember…Castiel, Dean?”

No response. 

“Castiel. The angel. Trenchcoat, messy hair, unnecessary obsession with you?”

Nothing. Dean just turned back to the mutilated wall. 

Talking wasn’t working, but maybe force would. Crowley sighed, braced his back against the bathroom door, and began to chant. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…ack!” The demon clutched his throat, his essence churning at the back of his mouth. He had hoped it wouldn’t work on him. “Bollocks.” Ever since Sam had set his mind to those infernal trials, Crowley hadn’t be the same. Still King of Hell, but more vulnerable somehow. More…human.

The Latin incantation had affected Dean, though. The demon slowly turned away from the wall and took a few steps toward Crowley. “You can’t control me,” he finally said. It was Dean’s voice, no doubt, but with a dark edge, sharper, deeper. “I’m a Knight of Hell.”

Crowley straightened suddenly and met him in the center of the room. His eyes were hard. “Oh, you may be a Knight of Hell,” he said in a dangerously calm voice. “But I’m the King. You answer to me.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Make me.”

Crowley yanked the First Blade from Dean fluidly and leveled it at his chest. “Checkmate,” he snarled. “Now get yourself under control. Eyes, green.”

“I like the black. It’s polished. Clean. Dangerous.”

“Now,” Crowley said cooly, tapping Dean’s chest with the First Blade. “This happens to be one of the only things that can kill you. So I suggest you follow directions, before I turn you into a demonic shish kabob. Get to it.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. When he reopened them, they were a clear, grassy green. He could almost pass for human, but for the raised Mark on his arm and the crazed smile that played around his lips.

“Very good,” Crowley allowed, taking a step back. “I can actually take you places now. I’m dying for a beer. And besides, Deano, I’ve got big plans for you.”

“What type of plans?” Dean asked suspiciously. 

“How’d you like to rule Hell?”

“What?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play with me, Crowley.”

“Not playing, I assure you. I think it’s best we get to the point quickly.” The demon spread his hands in a gesture of grandeur. “Ever since Abaddon decided she wanted to upset my throne, I haven’t felt like Hell has been completely under my…control. Thanks for killing her, by the way. Nobody upstages Crowley.”

“We can deal with your diva tendencies later, asshole,” Dean growled. “Let’s get back to Hell then, huh? I could use a few minions.”

“Minions,” Crowley scoffed. “Hardly. You still answer to me, remember? But you’ll be my second-in-command, my right-hand man, my Chief of Staff.” He raised an eyebrow. “Free reign. You kill who you like, as long as they’re approved by me. You go where you like, as long as it’s approved by me. And–”

Dean scowled. “That doesn’t sound like free reign. Sounds more like me bein’ your pet.” He spat the word out angrily. “I’m not your damn assassin. Get someone else to do your dirty work. I’m out.”

“Dean, don’t you dare–” But the demon was gone, vanished in a puff of black smoke. Crowley slammed a fist against the motel wall, then winced at the splinters embedded in his knuckles. “Bollocks.” 

What was he going to do now? Dean was gone, and seemed to have no weaknesses. No sentimentalities, no points where Crowley could reach in and break the newly formed demon, break him so he could bend him to his own will. Perhaps this would require backup.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at the destroyed motel room, with its mutilated wallpaper and smashed furniture. “Unfortunate,” he muttered, snapping his fingers and materializing a sleeve of matches with a small puff of smoke. The King of Hell lazily sparked a match, tossed it on the faded bedspread, and stalked out of the room to the acrid stench of burning fabric.


	4. Canvas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the next chapter as promised. This one is a bit longer. I should be back to updating every other week now (hopefully).

“It seems pretty quiet,” Sam muttered as he drove the Impala quietly through the suburban town. “You’re sure the angels saw demon activity?”

Cas gave him a look. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Well, maybe they were mistaken,” the hunter muttered grumpily. “This looks like Pleasantville to me.”

“There,” Cas whispered, pointing to a house tucked in the shadows of a cul-de-sac. “That one.”

Sam cautiously pulled up to the two-story building. White shutters, flowers in window boxes, cheerful wind chimes on the porch, the whole nine yards. “The Great Oracle lives here?” His eye caught a large dreamcatcher swinging underneath the porch light, ornately beaded and decorated with feathers. “Hmm. That doesn’t exactly match the decor.”

“Let’s go, Sam,” Cas insisted, climbing out of the car. He stumbled a bit getting his footing, and clutched the Impala’s door for support.

“Cas? You okay?” Sam hurriedly put a hand out to steady the angel. “What’s wrong?”

“No, no…” Cas waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“Cas–”

“Come on.” Cas stubbornly walked to the door of the house and rapped harshly on the painted wood. Sam jogged to meet him just as the door swung open and the two men were met with the large dark eyes of a teenage girl.

“Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want it,” she snapped. “Go away.” She moved to shove the door closed.

Sam shot an arm out and stopped her, giving what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “No, wait–” He squinted against the bright porch light. “We need to talk to you, just for a minute. Is there anyone else who lives here?”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock as she took a proper look at Sam, then glanced at Cas. “No way…” she murmured. “No.” She swallowed nervously, then pointed a trembling finger at Sam. “Sam Winchester,” she said. “And Castiel. You look just like them…”

“Um.” Sam shared an uneasy glance with Cas. “Yeah, that’s us. How did you know?”

The girl stumbled backwards a few steps, leaving the door wide open. “You–you aren’t real. There’s no possible way you’re real.” Her eyes darted across the porch, looking at nothing, then finally settled back into Sam. “You probably want to come in,” she said in a hollow voice, and gestured into the kitchen. Turning and walking into the house, she retreated to a wooden counter and peered at Sam and Cas with a mixture of fear, excitement, and curiosity.

Sam got a better look at her in the bright interior lights. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. She was tall, slender, with high cheekbones, big dark eyes, and long straight ebony hair pulled into a high ponytail. Feather and bead earrings dangled in her ears, framing her angular face. Her white tank top and tan arms were splattered with paint.

“You an artist?” Sam asked awkwardly, nodding at the colorful flecks on her hands. 

The girl looked down and blushed, then absently twirled a jade ring around her index finger. “Yeah,” she said. “You could say that.” She took a deep breath and walked behind the counter, reaching into a tall shelf. “Do you guys, uh, want something to drink?” She pulled down a glass half-heartedly. “I think there’s beer in the fridge…”

“We’re fine,” Sam assured her. “Thanks anyway, uh…”

“Caroline,” the girl supplied. “Caroline Summers.” She winced. “It’s horrible, I know. My parents…” She waved a hand limply to finish the statement.

Cas tipped his head at her. “Are you the Great Oracle? You seem rather young.”

“The Great what?” Caroline asked in bewilderment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ignore him,” Sam said with an uneasy laugh. “Uh, Caroline, what we want to know is, has anything unusual happened lately? Bright flashes of light, storms, high pitched unexplained noises?”

“No…” the girl said slowly. “But I think I know why you’re here.” She turned made her way into a hall off the kitchen, motioning to Sam and Cas as she went. “This way. There’s something you should see.”

“Are you sure it’s her?” Sam whispered to Cas as they followed the young girl down a short hallway. “I mean, really?”

Cas nodded sharply. “It would appear so. I only wonder why.”

“Here,” Caroline’s voice came from ahead. She padded into a dark room, then flicked a switch that illuminated a spacious art studio. Long shelves mounted on the wall were crammed with brushes, tubes of paint and easels. Wooden tables were scattered across the room, blank canvases and jars of water standing on them. A display of canvases across the back wall were draped with old sheets. Caroline crossed to them and took a deep breath before facing the two men. “Don’t freak out, please.” She yanked the sheet off the first canvas, then the next, all down the line until a pile of drapery lay crumpled beneath a series of disturbingly familiar paintings. 

Dean sobbing into Sam’s shoulder, blood coating his hands. Dean’s eyes, terrified and haunted, as he hung in a void, suspended in chains. Cas with glowing eyes and his wing shadows stretching above him, sparks blazing in an abandoned barn. Lucifer and Sam, opposite each other in a dark room, the Horsemen’s Rings on the floor between them. Sam in glasses, inky hellhound blood dripping from his tattered shirt. Cas holding an angel blade above Dean’s bruised and battered face, ready to strike. Dean with pure black eyes, a maniacal smile plastered across his face. 

The brush strokes were thick and hurried, the work of someone furiously trying to expel passion. The colors were bright, slopped on top of each other haphazardly. And yet, the paintings had an eerie life to them, capturing the emotions and physical features of the Winchesters and their angel almost too perfectly.

Sam inhaled sharply. “What the hell,” he whispered. “These are amazing. I mean, this is exactly what it looked like. All of it.”

“Yeah.” Caroline twirled her ring again. “They just, sort of, happened.”

“How?” Cas prodded gently.

Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. “A few days ago,” she said quietly. “I started having these nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares. You two were in them, and another man…Dean?” She paused for Sam’s shocked nod, then continued. “You, Sam, died in his arms, but you seemed much younger. And then he was in this dark, horrible place, I think he said it was Hell. Those were the worst. And then the Apocalypse, and you were soulless, and I mean, just everything.” She massaged her temples tiredly. “Leviathans. Falling angels. Trying to close the Gates of Hell. And Metatron.” She shuddered.

“So wait, you got everything about our lives in a few nights?” Sam asked incredulously. “How far back?”

“The night you were six months old,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

“Did you…sleep a lot?” Cas asked.

Caroline cracked a weak smile. “I started getting these awful visions during the day, too. I would completely black out, come to having no idea what I had missed. I woke up in a cold sweat every night. So, I mean, this is how I cope with stress. I paint.” She laughed nervously. “In fact, I haven’t really been doing much else for a while.” Her eyes hardened. “But that’s not what’s important. I know you’re here because of Dean. I’m not sure what I could possibly do to help you, but–” She paused at the sound of a muffled thump. “What was that?”

“Shit,” Sam muttered, realization sparking in his eyes. He spun around and began sprinting back down the hallway. “Demons.” He cast a look back at Caroline, her dark eyes wide as she pelted after him, Cas bringing up the rear. “Just stay behind me,” the hunter insisted.

“I’ve picked up a thing or two, I can fight.” Caroline veered off and scrambled up a small flight of stairs, disappearing through a doorway at the top of them. “Just give me a second…”

“We don’t have a second!” Sam protested, skidding to a stop at the sight of three hulking men, their eyes empty pools of black, standing in the doorway of Caroline’s house. He brandished the rune-covered knife he never let leave his side, and slipped into a practiced fighting stance.

The first demon lunged, pulling a curved knife out of his belt as he went. Sam ducked under the strike and knifed the demon in the back, then furiously yanked out the weapon as another man descended on him.

Cas strode towards the remaining demon, palm raised in defense. Grabbing the large man’s face, the angel began to smite him with a familiar burst of light. But halfway through the process, Cas stumbled backwards suddenly, a shocked look on his face, and dropped to the pale wood floor as blood began leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“Cas?” Sam called for help, frantically trying to combat two demons at once and keep them away from the stairs where Caroline had gone. “A little help?” Sam glanced back and realized in horror there was no response from the angel, who lay motionless on the floor. “Cas!” One demon backhanded the hunter across the face, and Sam stumbled against the counter, nursing a heavy nosebleed.

“Got it,” Caroline panted, jumping down the steps and brandishing a boom box at the two remaining demons. “Fight this, you bastards.” She hit the play button and her recorded voice blared out of the speakers. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte et sectio, ergo draco maledicte et legio secta diabolica, ut ecclésiam tuam secúra tibi fácias servire libertáte, te rogámus, audi nos.”

Caroline grinned triumphantly as the demons shuddered, black smoke pouring from their mouths. She waited for the hosts to drop to the ground, then turned to Sam with a raised eyebrow. “Not bad, huh? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Sam waved her off with a hand, wiping the blood from his face. “Here, help me.” He knelt over Cas, who was still unconscious. Caroline tossed the boom box down and crouched next to him, peering at the angel with a concerned look on her face.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

Sam shook Cas gently. “I don’t know. He smites demons all the time. There’s no reason it should–” Cas’ eyes snapped open suddenly, glowing with bright light for a moment before settling back into their usual blue. Sam sighed in relief. “Don’t do that, man.”

“My apologies,” Cas mumbled, struggling upright. He licked his lips curiously, then wiped a thin trickle of blood from his mouth. “I’m…not sure what happened.”

“It’s your grace,” Caroline muttered. “I’m sure it is.” She looked seriously as Cas. “You need to replenish it, soon.”

Sam tilted his head in concern. “Cas, I didn’t realize–”

“I’m fine,” Cas insisted, getting slowly to his feet. “It’s not important. Dean’s important. Caroline, we need your help.” He put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Do you know where Dean is now?”

Caroline thought for a moment. “Um, I’m not really sure. I don’t know how my powers work.” She shrugged at the two men. “I’m assuming these are powers, right? I mean, psychic tendencies and visions that actually come true aren’t normal.”

“We’ll explain everything later,” Sam assured her. “Look, just try to focus, okay? See if you can pick up anything about Dean?”

“Alright.” Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, silent. Sam and Cas exchanged an uneasy glance. After a few moments, Caroline gave a little gasp and opened her eyes. “Found him.”

“Where?” Sam asked, hope in his voice.

Caroline chewed on the corner of her lip. “You’re not going to like it,” she warned the hunter. “As far as I could see, your brother…he’s back in Hell.”


	5. Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Again. Thanks for reading :)

“But why would he be in Hell?” Sam repeated uselessly, almost steering the Impala into a ditch. “Why?”

“For the thousandth time, I don’t know,” Caroline told him, dropping her head in her hands. “I only got a glimpse.” She wiggled her fingers nervously. “I’m still getting used to prophet powers.”

She was curled up in the backseat of the Impala, talking to Sam and nursing a headache at the same time. Cas was slumped in the passenger seat, face sagging in exhaustion.

“Once we get back to the Bunker I can do some research,” Sam mused. “But until then–”

“Until then you should stop worrying,” Caroline said. “Just…focus on driving, okay?” She cringed as Sam sped around another sharp corner.

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, before Sam glanced back at Caroline again. “That was nice work back there with the exorcism,” he noted. “How did you get that idea?”

Caroline chuckled. “I have the entire Winchester family history downloaded into my head, remember? I know how much you guys face demons. And, well, you can find anything on the Internet. Even exorcisms. I figured it might come in handy, just in case any of it turned out to be real.” She fiddled with her jade ring. “Good thing I’m paranoid, right?”

Sam cracked a smile, impressed. “Yeah. Good thing.”

Cas stirred in his seat, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Are you sure your parents aren’t going to notice that you’re gone? I could arrange to manipulate their memories…”

“No, it’s fine,” Caroline muttered. “I told you, they’re out of town this week. I left them a note saying I was staying at a friend’s house for a while.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “They don’t care what I do, so I doubt they’ll even notice for a while.”

“Um, sorry,” Sam said quietly. Then, after a pause. “I know how you feel.”

Caroline smiled. “I know you know.” She absently began braiding her long dark hair. “Just assume I know everything.”

Cas squinted in thought, staring blankly at the dark landscape outside his window. “I suppose you were granted with background knowledge to better serve you in your quest and to help balance the full scope of your powers.”

“The full scope of my powers? Oh boy.” Caroline groaned and leaned her head back against the Impala’s cool leather. “I don’t even know why I was–”

“Hello boys.” A smooth British voice interrupted her complaint. Crowley materialized, lounging in the backseat, then gave Caroline a customary glance. “And girl, apparently.”

Sam jumped and twisted the wheel of the Impala involuntarily. Cas clumsily brandished his angel blade, which had suddenly appeared in his hand. Caroline yelped and scooted backwards, her eyes wide. “Crowley?” she whispered.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Crowley, what the hell?” Sam growled, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Get out of my car.”

“Technically, it’s Dean’s car.”

The hunter ground his teeth in frustration. “What are you doing here, asshole? Do you have a death wish?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Dean? What did you do with him?”

“Relax, boys. He’s fine.” Crowley steepled his fingers for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “I mean, if you consider being a crazed, out of control killing machine fine.” He snuck a glance at Caroline. “Who’s the kid?”

“Crowley, I swear to–” Sam took a deep breath, his white-knuckled grip on the Impala’s wheel squeezing even tighter. “ _What_ are you doing here?”

Caroline nervously balled her fists. “I know what you’re capable of, demon,” she said in a shaky voice. “Don’t try anything.”

“Easy there, Pocahontas,” Crowley drawled, curling a lip at her dark hair and skin. “I only came to have a nice little family chat.”

“We are _not_ your family,” Castiel insisted.

Crowley sighed and closed his eyes. “I really expected better manners from you, boys. I’m here for your help.”

Sam coughed. “Um, what?”

The demon clenched his jaw. “Big brother is a little out of control. He appears to have gone rogue. I can’t break through to him.”  
“You have got to be kidding me.” Sam glared at Crowley through the rearview mirror. “Dammit, Crowley. What was the point of turning Dean into your twisted pet if you can’t even control him?”

“He’s not a pet, he’s an associate,” Crowley snapped. “Listen, Moose, contrary to popular belief, Hell isn’t exactly easy to run. Do you know how many souls are down there? How many more I get every single day. The paperwork is a nightmare, and that’s without…everything else.”

“Everything else?” Sam’s voice was dangerously quiet. “I want to know what the hell is going on, Crowley.”

Cas twisted around the passenger seat and leveled his angel blade at Crowley. “Right now.”

“Overprotective saps,” Crowley spat, shoving the blade away from his face. “All right, fine! There’s mutiny in Hell. Abaddon’s followers against mine. I hoped with Dean’s help we could overpower the other demons. After all, Dean’s the one who killed the bitch. But so far, he’s been absolutely no help.”

“But now he’s down there, too,” Caroline mused, keeping a wary eye on Crowley. “So who’s side is he taking?”

Crowley smirked. “Well, why don’t we go ask him?”

“Go to Hell?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Don’t act like it’s your first time,” the demon muttered. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I get my kingdom back, you get Deano back, everybody wins.”

“Unless you betray us,” Castiel deadpanned.

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, wings,” he said breezily. “I’m profiting from this too.”

Cas gave Sam an agonizing look. “Sam, you know I want Dean back as much as you…but there are duties in Heaven, too.” He rubbed his forehead. “Angel radio’s been calling for me nonstop. I’m needed.”

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked him. “I mean, last time you tried to lead the angles, it didn’t exactly…go well.”

Crowley looked at her in interest. “Well, well. You do seem to know a lot about Winchester history.”

“Can it, Crowley,” Sam snapped. “Cas, you should go. If you’re needed, I mean.”

The angel sighed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You can fly again?” Caroline said, astonished. “How?”

“Now that Heaven is no longer under Metatron’s control, angels have their powers back…kind of.” Castiel shook his head. “It’s hard to know if we’re really back at full power. But yes, I can get back to Heaven.”

“Are you sure?” Sam prodded. “I mean, your grace–”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas insisted, and disappeared with a faint flapping of wings.

“Touching farewell,” Crowley noted with a dry smile. “Come on Moose. Up for a trip downstairs?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “I can’t believe I’m saying this…but we don’t have any other option.”

Crowley grinned. “I knew you’d agree. Pull over.”

Sam cautiously steered the Impala into a thin patch of nearby woods and got out, Crowley and Caroline following him. Popping the trunk of the car, he held out a sheathed knife to Caroline.

“You know how to use one of these?” the hunter inquired.

“I think I’ll manage,” Caroline told him, clipping the weapon to the belt loop of her jeans. “I don’t suppose you have holy water too?”

Sam shook a small flask, then tucked it into his duffel bag. Crowley leaned against the Impala, arms crossed.

“Is this really necessary?” he asked in a bored voice. “You’ll be under my protection. What more could ask for?”

“Your _protection_ could very well end up with us impaled at the bottom of a lava pit, or whatever friggin’ tortures you’ve devised down there,” Sam said, shooting the demon a look.

“Fair enough,” Crowley allowed. “Ready, you two?”

Caroline nodded shakily. “I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sam shouldered his duffel. “Don’t double-cross me, Crowley. I’ll kick your ass.”

“Have a little faith,” the King of Hell insisted, placing a hand on the others’ shoulders. “Well, relatively speaking.” He closed his eyes, and the three of them disappeared from the lonely road.


End file.
